The Night Before
by who is sabrina
Summary: The night before the heist of the Yellow Jacket suit and the destruction of Pym Technologies, Dr. Hank Pym and Scott Lang remember that they are both fathers. Disclaimer: I don't own Ant-Man.


The glowing green numbers on the oven clock confirmed that it was 3:04 in the morning - a really unreasonable time to be awake, particularly considering what the next day would hold. Dr. Hank Pym sighed quietly and leaned against the kitchen counter in the dark, frowning as the numbers jumped to 3:05. But there was no point in trying to sleep right now; the knowledge of the next day had already kept him awake for hours. Too soon, they would all be facing Darren Cross and his near-impenetrable security measures. Tomorrow might hold a successful heist and the destruction of Pym Tech. Or it could hold much, much worse.

Hank ran a hand through his hair, adjusted his glasses ineffectually, and then moved to turn on the stove, thinking vaguely of a cup of tea. But he stopped short and blinked, his eyes still adjusting to the dim, moonlit kitchen. He moved closer, curious, and there it was - an already made pot of tea, sitting on a tea towel on the countertop. He felt the sides. Still hot. He reached for the cupboard instead, grabbing a teacup and wondering. He filled it, watching the steam rise in the moonlight, and then took it with him through the doors and into the dining room.

It was dark in there, too, lit only with a faint orange glow from the street lamps outside. A single silhouette sat in the darkness and the silence, cup of tea in hand, staring ahead at nothing.

"Scott?" At this, the silhouette turned, and Scott's tired face was briefly highlighted in the street lamp's glow. He smiled slightly.

"Hank," he returned with a nod. The scientist sat down at the head of the table, diagonal with Scott as per their usual seating arrangements. He took a sip of the tea, feeling warmth flood through him, and then leaned back in his chair, studying Scott carefully.

"Shouldn't you be getting some sleep?" he asked pointedly. Scott grinned.

"Shouldn't _you_?" Hank nodded at Scott's undeniably valid point, and drank more of his tea. They should both be asleep. And yet here they were, on the night before the big heist, drinking tea in the dark. Hank surveyed Scott's demeanor - his slightly slumped posture, his quiet stillness, the almost haunted look in his eyes. Most people would be anxious about the approach of such a difficult, dangerous job - anxious enough to lose sleep. But Hank had known Scott for too long now.

"You're missing Cassie." It wasn't a question, but Scott nodded anyway.

"I just want to see her," he sighed. "At least for a few minutes." There was no mistaking the longing in his voice. "The last time I saw her was at her birthday party. I wasn't even invited." Hank felt a sudden stab of sympathy for Scott, thinking of the years when Hope had willingly separated herself from him. At least for Scott it wasn't Cassie who wanted to be apart. Hank wasn't sure if that was worse or better. "They made me leave," Scott recounted, shrugging. "I think Paxton wanted to arrest me."

Hank said nothing, partly because he wasn't sure what to say, and partly because a new concern had suddenly arisen, fierce and unshakable, about tomorrow. About Scott. About Cassie. Of course, Hank had known about Cassie from the beginning, had used Scott's longing for her to persuade him to help with the heist, and had had a level of understanding with Scott, as they were both fathers. But just now, in this very moment, it struck Hank that he could very well be responsible for making a little girl lose her daddy. He felt suddenly cold, despite the tea, and suppressed a shudder.

"Scott," he began uncertainly, voice gravelly and perhaps a tad more emotional than he had intended, "about tomorrow-"

"Ah, don't worry about tomorrow," Scott interrupted immediately, smiling genuinely at Hank. It threw him for a moment that Scott seemed to know what he had been thinking. But then again, he knew that Scott was a great deal smarter than he ever let on. "The job will be done before you know it. It'll be fine." Hank felt marginally better in the face of Scott's obvious confidence, but only marginally. He cleared his throat. Drank more tea. Scott seemed to read his mind again.

"I knew from the beginning that it would be dangerous," Scott reminded him. "I want to do this." Hank nodded.

"Good," he said. "But you know, this job isn't going to prove anything to Cassie. I know she already sees you as a hero."

"Amazingly, yeah, she does," Scott agreed, grinning at the mere mention of his daughter. "But this job will prove something to _me_."

"What's that?" Hank wondered. "You said yourself you're a very good thief." Scott smiled wryly.

"Maggie thinks of me as a criminal. And, I mean, I _am_. But I don't…" He trailed off, studied the remaining tea in his cup carefully. "I just want to be a good dad." The words resonated strongly with Hank, and in mild surprise, they slipped into one of those strangely pleasant moments where he and Scott were entirely on the same page.

"I've wanted that for years," Hank agreed quietly. "I'm not sure that I've been the best at it, though."

"Hope loves you, Hank." The older man looked up and met eyes with Scott, who was suddenly very serious and very, very sure. "More than she thinks she does." Hank couldn't suppress the small smile that crept up at those words. He nodded at Scott, an unspoken thanks.

"Good night, Scott," Hank said after a moment. He downed the last of his tea and then stood, turning away from the table. But something indeterminate held him back, and after a second's hesitation, he turned and added, "You'll do great tomorrow, Scott." A wide smile spread across the younger man's face. Not wanting him to get too cocky, Hank quickly continued. "It's those idiots of yours that I'm worried about." Scott laughed quietly.

"Ah, they'll be fine. They might not instill the greatest confidence, but they'll have our backs tomorrow, guaranteed."

"If you say so." Hank turned once again and headed for the doors, hoping to finally catch a little sleep.

"Good night, Hank. And, uh, thanks. You know, for…" Hank looked back to watch Scott gesticulate vaguely towards the table and his teacup. "I mean, I really appreciate-"

"Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up and go to sleep."

"Yes, sir."


End file.
